They're baaaddd.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny, Sam, Tucker, or Vlad. The three belong to Butch Hartman.
I do not own the band AFI; I do not own the band MCR; I do not own the band Linkin Park; I do not own the band Blaqk Audio; don't own the Used; don't own Rise Against.
Some ideas in this story were taken from Glamorousdeath, a member of the website from her story "Will You Cry for me?...or Will you cry with me?"
I do, however, own most of the plot to this fanfiction. IF SOMEONE STEALS IT I WILL EAT THEM.
Warning (so you guys don't eat my brain): DANNY FENTON AND SAM MANSON ARE ALTERED IN THIS FANFICTION. SAM IS TWO YEARS YOUNGER THAN DANNY; DANNY GOT HIS POWERS AT AGE TEN. If you do not want to read a fanfiction that is not "true" to the series, then please, do not read this. I'm sorry, but in order to make the fanfiction work, they had to be seperate ages. Once again...Danny and Sam are different ages; this fanfiction does not correspond whatsoever with the actual series.
This fanfiction is a work of fiction that came from the screwed up hole I call a brain. It is flufftastical, romantic, terribly tragic, and using the characters and most of their family history/backgrounds as bases. Thank you for understanding!
:D
-Sam's POV-
Tuck didn't even look a bit nervous. "Do we have five hundred in cash?" he asked. I opened the wallet; there it all was.
"My credit card?"
"Yup to both," I answered, flipping out the credit card.
"License?"
A smirk passed between the two of us. "You bet."
"Okay," he said, eyes rolling to the top of the truck and counting idly inside of his head. "We put away three hundred for gas, just to be careful. But this truck gets loads to the gallon; thirty will fill it just fine and it will run for a while. Two hundred for snacks, minus the snacks in the back," he said as he thumbed his finger to the bags of food in the back. It was about a two day drive from here to Madison; but we were prepared. His parents were away on business for two weeks. I told the orphanage I was spending time with a friend for a week.
Everything was perfect, with a purr for effect.
"Credit card for if we get in a jam," I said. "License for if we get pulled over."
"Clothes to, well, yeah."
"Blankets for when we pull over to sleep."
Another shared smirk, and then Tucker squared his shoulders. "I love being six foot already," he said sarcastically, and started up the car.
I laughed. "You sure you know how to drive this hunk of metal?"
"Do you want to find Danny or not!?"
"No shit I wanna find him!" I yelped. He sneered, and pulled out of his driveway. He choked on laughter, obviously letting nerves touch his mind slightly.
I popped a CD I had made at the library into the CD drive and turned the volume up. My Chemical Romance crooned at us, the beats enough to make us stay awake. We had slept the entire day (we got away with that by calling the school, making our voices more mature, and telling them that we were sick for the day before doubling back to Tucker's house), so we were pretty wired anyway. But as MCR slammed their instruments and vocal cords to I'm Not Okay, and the two of us sang along, it was enough to make us stay pretty conscious.
I gulped slightly as The Missing Frame came on, remembering when Danny had held me and sang me to sleep. But I was comforted by the fact that he'd be able to do that to me again; very, very soon. I smiled to myself and sang along with Tucker, barely noticing as more music whizzed by.
The CD ended; I reached into my backpack and splayed all the CD's I owned out on my lap. "Do you want to listen to a mixed CD, or a band CD?"
"Let's listen to Linkin Park," Tucker said, eyes on the road.
"I've only got Meteora and Minutes to Midnight."
He turned his head slightly to poke Meteora. "Play that one," he instructed. I did so. He sang along, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, glasses slowly sliding down his nose. I laughed, singing along as well, and looked at the clock. We had left at eight; it was two AM already. We'd have to pull over soon so we could at least be on a somewhat regular sleeping pattern.
A sign appeared that said we were still a whiles away from Madison. Tucker said it was probably a twenty four hour drive from there. I shuddered. I wondered how he could concentrate so well! I would have been shaking just from driving, let alone the scrap of a thing he called a truck. It was pretty roomy, though.
I leaned back into the chair, looking out the window, letting a few tears of longing escape my eyes. But I quickly brushed them away; soon we'd be reunited.
"Are you falling asleep on me!?" Tucker asked, aghast.
I turned to him. "Uh, no." I grinned. "It's three thirty; the night is still young," I half cooed, half giggled. He snorted and turned his attention back to the road.
"Play the Used," he muttered after a few minutes. I nodded, listening to him. I popped the CD out of its case; Lies for the Liars; and put Meteora back in its case.
The Used sort of woke us up. By the time four AM rolled around and the CD was over, we were pretty awake but still falling over in exhaustion. Grinning, I put my only Rise Against CD in, The Sufferer and the Witness.
"You're evil," he nearly croaked.
I laughed. "But it'll keep us up."
By the time the CD was over, Tucker was hallucinating. I told him, firmly, to pull over.
"But I'm not sleepy," he said as he swatted at imaginary bugs. "Damn mosquitoes," he muttered, eyelids drooping.
He listened to me, though. And without a word, he snatched the blanket and pillow from my hand, got comfortable, and curled up to sleep.
I stared out the window at the cars as they passed by, and watched the sun rise. As it got higher, I grabbed the black drapes I had pulled down from my own windows and strung them up around the car to prevent sunlight. I knew I was to try and get some sleep, but also knew I wouldn't be able to. I told myself to get the kid up at or around ten.
Grabbing my CD player, I tuned into the lulling voice of Davey Havok, the calming snare of Adam Carson, the sweet tune of Hunter, and the almost violent playing of Jade Pudget.